You Are Not Ted Hughes

You stained me,

with stories about saving me,

borrowing every line for your bestseller,

from the letters of my life,

and I tried to be grateful,

that I was of such interest,

to a cloud of Charlie Brooker books,

that had suddenly seen me,

for the very first time,

but I had to decline,

dropping a single kiss,

on your coarse curls,

before leaving you,

and your messy kitchen.


Read My Books

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RECENT FREE CREATIVE WRITING COLLECTIONS
Sad Girl’s Love Song
Drowning In Us
What Ever Happened To Baby Jen?

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